Severe Jam Damage

Four full days in Barcelona should have been enough to see all of the sights. Of course that kind of thing is dependant on the fact that you get up early in the morning to beat the crowds and aren’t out carousing until the early hours of the night before. I’ll leave it up to you to decide which way we holidayed.

Saturday was our first full day in the city and we decided to use it getting orientated. The fourth member of our group wasn’t going to arrive until Sunday morning so we thought it best just to go for a wander and acquaint ourselves with the local hotspots. A wander south down to Port Vell and then we got lost in Barceloneta. One quick turnaround and we were back to the Port and up Via Laietana. At that point we entered the Barri Gotic and damn if we couldn’t escape the Placa del Pi. Not because it was so nice, but because everytime we turned around there we were - back in the square. Eventually we decided to follow the tourists on the Segway C6’s just to get onto a road that didn’t lead back to the Placa del Pi. This took us up past the Orfeo Catala and eventually to the Arc de Triumf where the sun finally broke through.

We did get to see the Sagradia Familia, although as it was Easter Sunday afternoon the place was jammed. They had also closed the stairs, so the only way up was in the lift and there was a two hour wait for that. We decided our time could be better spent so we didn’t go up.

We didn’t get into any museum’s unless you count the Museu de l’Erotic where there were a number of photos taken - although only a few are publishable. And we did pass by the door of the Palau Nacional up on MontJuic. The magic fountain display was due to start at 7 o’clock in the evening, but since the sun was still splitting the sky we thought it would be hard to see the lighting, so we just walked up to the top of the steps, taking pictures along the way.

On Monday - our final day - we were in pretty bad shape (although not as bad as we would be on Tuesday morning in the airport.) so we decided that a trip in cable car was in order. We had not counted on the incredibly bad service though. At the ticket office there were five people ahead of us in the line. The ticket seller sold two tickets, then went on a smoke break. When he came back to his booth he fumbled around again and went for another smoke break - having sold NO tickets. After about 25 mintues we got fed up and walked back for a wander round the Barri Gotic again. As it was a late start that day we found the cloister of the Catedral de Seu a lovely quiet space for our aching heads, well except for the honking of the guard geese.

There was a bunch of stuff we didn’t get to see. The Picasso museum, Parc Guell, La Boqueria, Casa Batlo and Casa Mila (although we did drive past this we didn’t go in.) All of which sort of gives me a reason to go back.

Oh dear god, 10 o’clock at night and the taxi driver had brought us to Beirut. We were staying in an area called ‘La Raval’ aka ‘Barri Xino’ aka ‘Chinatown.’
The taxi driver didn’t know where our street was, he kept driving around and around and around the Rambla del Raval making sure we were a target for any of the locals on the hunt for clueless tourists. Eventually he just dropped us on the side of the road while we waited for the lady who had the keys to our apartment to come hobbling out of some side street.
We followed her back down the dingy road and she took us in a doorway to our home for the weekend.

The apartment was grand, all we needed it for was a bed and a shower. It had two bedrooms, one on the ground floor, the second upstairs in a sort of loft.

That night we went out for drinks - sans coats of course sure and aren’t we on holliers in Spain?
The locals were all wearing winter coats and boots, no wonder they were staring. At Las Ramblas we stopped at a restaurant and got screwed by the waiters for the price of a bottle of wine. (20 euros for a bottle of Faustino VII!!) That, for those who are wondering was the LAST TIME we ate or drank anywhere near Las Ramblas.

La Raval wasn’t as bad as we had first thought - it never is really. I’d put it on a par with Smithfield to be honest, one of those places that anyone who hasn’t lived there doesn’t feel comfortable after dark, but perfectly ok for the locals. There were a bunch of half decent restaurants and some groovy laid-back bars on the Rambla del Raval, we were a 10 minute walk from Port Vell to the south (and Las Ramblas and the Barri Gotic if we were heading east) and there was a good selection of restaurants for breakfast and kebab shops still open at the end of the night. Although the only one we managed to stagger into was the Taj Mahal where we met Orlando Bloom - a Scottish guy named Thomas I think - and one of the shop (owners? managers? kebab makers?) was famous for some ad campaign about kebabs. (True story, Clarice took a photo with the poster on the wall behind him.)

We later realised that all those horror stories our ‘friends’ had been telling us about muggings and robberies were happening to the tourists who stayed on Las Ramblas or in L’Eixample. Our neighbourhood may have been where the thieves came back to at night, but we liked to think of it as a ‘Don’t shit on your own doorstep’ scenario.

Anyway by the last night we were comfortable enough in the area to agree that if we came back to Barcelona we’d probably stay around there again. This train of thought may have been helped along by the lovely bar girls in Ambar who were serving us what could almost be classed as triple measures. Ambar by the way was mentioned in my ‘Le Cool’ guide book and was 3 minutes away from our apartment. We didn’t try it until the final night - possibly just as well for, as Lelly said later, “If we’d found that place on the first night I’d be coming home in a body bag.”

More to Follow…

I’m getting worse at this blogging thing aren’t I? Leaving it for days and weeks without anything to say. Sorry about that, I’ll try and do better this week. So, where was I? Ahh, yes, tales from Barcelona.
Well first I should tell you about GETTING there, which was an adventure in itself. Lelly and Clarice were due to pick me up at 2.30, but a rethink had them picking me up at 2 instead.

Good plan.

The clutch on Lelly’s car \ SUV \ monster truck went at the lego-houses in Ringsend. On Good Friday.

Luckily it was in 2nd gear so she managed to drive it up onto the curb. Unluckily we sat there for an hour waiting for the AA man. Clarice rang her boyfriend who drove up from Wicklow to drive us the rest of the way (there was no chance of getting a taxi where we were.)

Actually this story was much more exciting in real life than it is written down, so I’ll just finish it off by saying, we made it to the airport in time to have a drink in the bar and then proceeded to order gins and vodkas on the plane until we forgot all about the car and the clutch and the AA man who wouldn’t be there until 4.30.

More to Follow…

Just back from the weekend in Barcelona. I’m in the process of catching up, sorting through photos and trying to decide which bits to blog about. Rather than put everything into one long entry I’ll probably break it up into bits. I have about another 300 photos to go through from the digital and 7 rolls that I’m dropping into Gunns at lunchtime for processing.
Short version of the weekend is:
1. I need a new liver
2. El Raval is cooler than it appears.
3. I need a new liver
4. Las Ramblas is an expensive hole.
5. You will never escape the Placa del Pi.

More to follow…

Call myself a blogger huh?
I know, I know, it’s been desperately quiet around here lately. Problem is I haven’t been able to come up with a single decent topic to write about.

I’m off to Barcelona later today, flying out this evening for the Easter weekend. Of course it was only AFTER I’d booked that I realised is was Easter. doh!

Anyway I should have a good few stories on my return, bringing the camera and my new lens, here’s hoping the weather holds up. Although I know that won’t stop us having a good time. In the meantime, Happy Easter everyone!